8.07.2007
Moving in
I was comfortable at my friend's house, even with the two cats, dog, and seven puppies who all came running every time I opened the gate. We cooked at night and carpooled together in the morning. But I was ready for my own place, a non-work space, that had a lot of plants but a lot less pets.
t took me about two months of traipsing around Arusha with a realtor, visiting various options ranging from creepy-dark to African-dictator-luxe, to finally find a place. When I found it, I visited three times, demanded some fixes, then got stuck on the price with my landlord, a large and somewhat deaf old man who was not going to budge. But I wanted that house. Bitterly, I closed and paid six months rent--totaling about $1900.
And the house is great. Three bedrooms and two bathrooms with lots of light, partial wood paneling on the walls and ceilings and beautiful built-in cupboards. The kitchen is awkward but has a huge pantry, and the whole house has hot and cold water. The neighborhood is safe and friendly, a mix of houses, apartments, stores and barbershops, convenient to town but not too hectic. I recruited Glory, my old roommate, to come live with me again, and we spent one Saturday on a Price is Right shopping spree--refrigerator, mattresses, mats, stove. The neighbors stared as we pulled up to the house with our loaded pick up.
There was more to do. I spent hours in the main market haggling over kitchen ware, and in the used clothes market bargaining for linens. I spent a day in stores choosing the fabric for my couch, dazzled by bolts of cloth stacked floor to ceiling, presided over by Arab traders. I hired a guard, had shards of glass cemented on the walls, and ordered a dog house for a small but particularly vicious puppy from my former home. From a roadside nursery, I bought climbing vines for my front porch, and a row of weird and leafy plants for the entry. I went to the supermarket to stock the cupboards--thinking that once there was food in the house, I'd be ready to move in.
But things kept happening. A toilet ran and we had to shut the water off. The plumber had to come three times because I forgot the first time, then didn't have the right keys. We needed a counter for the kitchen to put the stove on. Glory's phone broke for a month and I couldn't get a hold of her. I ordered couches and all sorts of furniture, but picked a bad carpenter who took the money and won't finish, even though I visit him every few days and beg, cajole, threaten. Next time I see him I'll take our head driver, who has an air of menace, and the time after that I'll try crying. I just want my damn couch.
It got to be too much--last week I gave up and moved in. The only furniture is mattresses, mats, and four plastic chairs. We can't use the stove yet because we still have no counter. I've been learning the light switches, and identifying more things to buy--towel racks, mirrors, an electric kettle. On the Saturday I finally moved in, I sat in front of the house and listened to the wind in my neighbor's banana trees, and the trumpets from wedding processions on the nearby main road and felt good.
t took me about two months of traipsing around Arusha with a realtor, visiting various options ranging from creepy-dark to African-dictator-luxe, to finally find a place. When I found it, I visited three times, demanded some fixes, then got stuck on the price with my landlord, a large and somewhat deaf old man who was not going to budge. But I wanted that house. Bitterly, I closed and paid six months rent--totaling about $1900.
And the house is great. Three bedrooms and two bathrooms with lots of light, partial wood paneling on the walls and ceilings and beautiful built-in cupboards. The kitchen is awkward but has a huge pantry, and the whole house has hot and cold water. The neighborhood is safe and friendly, a mix of houses, apartments, stores and barbershops, convenient to town but not too hectic. I recruited Glory, my old roommate, to come live with me again, and we spent one Saturday on a Price is Right shopping spree--refrigerator, mattresses, mats, stove. The neighbors stared as we pulled up to the house with our loaded pick up.
There was more to do. I spent hours in the main market haggling over kitchen ware, and in the used clothes market bargaining for linens. I spent a day in stores choosing the fabric for my couch, dazzled by bolts of cloth stacked floor to ceiling, presided over by Arab traders. I hired a guard, had shards of glass cemented on the walls, and ordered a dog house for a small but particularly vicious puppy from my former home. From a roadside nursery, I bought climbing vines for my front porch, and a row of weird and leafy plants for the entry. I went to the supermarket to stock the cupboards--thinking that once there was food in the house, I'd be ready to move in.
But things kept happening. A toilet ran and we had to shut the water off. The plumber had to come three times because I forgot the first time, then didn't have the right keys. We needed a counter for the kitchen to put the stove on. Glory's phone broke for a month and I couldn't get a hold of her. I ordered couches and all sorts of furniture, but picked a bad carpenter who took the money and won't finish, even though I visit him every few days and beg, cajole, threaten. Next time I see him I'll take our head driver, who has an air of menace, and the time after that I'll try crying. I just want my damn couch.
It got to be too much--last week I gave up and moved in. The only furniture is mattresses, mats, and four plastic chairs. We can't use the stove yet because we still have no counter. I've been learning the light switches, and identifying more things to buy--towel racks, mirrors, an electric kettle. On the Saturday I finally moved in, I sat in front of the house and listened to the wind in my neighbor's banana trees, and the trumpets from wedding processions on the nearby main road and felt good.
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